This Is So Adorably Wholesome, My Feet Are Kicking The Air!!?

This is so adorably wholesome, my feet are kicking the air!!?

Crush

Summary: Joel Miller has a crush for the first time in thirty years, and he isn't sure what the hell to do about it.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~3.5k

Warnings: flirting, fluff, Ellie and Tommy bonding by playing matchmaker and annoying Joel, assumed unrequited affection, mentions of violence, menace status Ellie and Tommy, Joel might be ooc but I can't tell, Joel has a lil bit of a voice kink lmao if you squint

A/N: This fic came to me like a premonition. Joel is so weird because he doesn't know how to deal with having a crush and I think its very cute. Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy!

Joel ain’t quite sure how it happens. 

One day, you’re just one out of the many in Jackson. The next, Tommy’s teasing him over having a crush. 

Crush. 

Like what? He’d asked. Like a damn kid? 

Exactly like a damn kid, Tommy had answered. Just like a damn kid. Ain’t ever seen you like this, big brother. 

It’s horrifying, because it's true. He's enamored, smitten. He has a fuckin' crush.

It becomes worse when Ellie notices. 

“She got something stuck to her backside or something? Why are you looking at her so much?” Ellie openly squints across the room at you. 

The question is loud, posed in the middle of the lunch rush in the canteen. Joel’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest. “Would you — Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Ellie. Keep it down.”

Luckily the chatter drowned out her voice, and only Joel seems to have heard her. You laugh and put a hand on the forearm of your friend, clutching at her, your other hand clenched on the brim of your stetson. 

“So,” Ellie prompts. “Does she?” 

“No,” he grumbles, drawing his eyes away from you. He glances at Ellie briefly who is smiling at him, before he refocuses on the bowl in front of him. “I ain’t lookin’ either. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Ellie just laughs and shovels another bite of food into her mouth. “You so are, man. Tommy’s right, you’ve got it bad.” She drags out the word bad, stretching it until Joel tells her to shut up. 

He manages to keep his gaze off you for all of six seconds before furtively searching for you again as Ellie chatters on about something else. 

You aren’t in line anymore but sitting at a table. You’re listening to someone talk, a pencil tucked behind your ear. There’s a smile playing around your lips, your eyes crinkle at the corners. 

Joel’s never seen anyone look so effortlessly beautiful, just sitting still—

“Dude!” 

“What?” He snaps, head whipping back to Ellie. 

She rolls her eyes, “You’re just proving my point. Have you even fuckin’ talked to her?” 

“Of course I have.” 

And he had.

Exactly once. 

Tommy had fallen ill and you’d volunteered for the patrol shift he would be missing. 

Something about you left him a little tongue tied, though he isn’t sure you’d noticed. He has a reputation for being quiet anyhow, and you’d filled the silence with so many words he hadn’t needed to say anything. 

The tight shape of your ass in your jeans as you rode ahead of him only distracted him a little. Sure, you had a voice he could listen to forever, and yeah, maybe you looked like some kind of goddess riding through the autumn light, red and yellow leaves swirling down around you—but that didn’t mean a damn thing about what he was feeling. That choking, stuttering, warm feeling fluttering around inside him. 

“When?” Ellie demands. “I’ve only ever seen you look at her.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, and scrapes the remaining bit of chili from his bowl. “Patrol.” 

“That was weeks ago!” 

And ever since then, he can’t seem to stop seeing you, he can’t seem to stop looking at you and for you, listening for you, the sweet lilt of your voice. But he hasn’t approached you. 

But that's a fuckin’ pipe dream.

He’s sure you have a bad impression of him after your one and only patrol together. 

Joel stands, “I ain’t had much cause to cross paths with her again. Now finish eatin’ and leave it alone. I don’t got a crush.” 

Ellie grumbles under her breath as Joel returns his dishes and leaves the canteen. Outside the autumn sunshine is warm. The sky is clear and perfectly blue. He breathes out and shakes himself. 

His brother and his kid might be right. 

He might have a damn crush. 

If only you weren’t so goddamned pretty. When Tommy told him he was changing shifts with someone, he’d expected someone like himself, like Tommy. Someone who would just get the job done, quiet and gruff. 

Most are. 

But you’re sunny as sunny can be. Cheerful. 

He’d assumed you’d lived most of your life in Jackson, coddled and protected from the harsher realities of the world. But you were new to Jackson, had only been there a couple of years. 

When he asked Tommy about it, he’d just shrugged. Always been like that, ever since she got here. She’s been through shit, but she’s just like that. 

“Hey,” a voice calls from behind him now as he crosses through the center of Jackson. It’s your pretty voice. Christ, he could listen to you read a phonebook. Footsteps pound along the pavement. “Joel.” 

The sound of his name in your mouth sends something rolling up from his gut to nest down in his lungs, a burning kind of pain that’s half pleasurable. 

Jesus, your voice. He wants to hear you sing, he bets you sound so good. He wants to hear your voice in other ways too, panting, with his name on your lips.

He turns to find you, in all your shimmering, pretty glory, catching up to him. Something seizes him by the throat. His tongue is too big for his mouth, his breath caught in his throat. When was the last time he felt like this? 

Years. Decades. Maybe when he first met Sarah’s mother, before things got complicated and everything fell apart between them. 

You come to a stop in front of him and smile. 

It’s a beaming, radiant smile. 

It makes him feel like he’s having a heart attack. 

Jesus. He needs to get a grip. 

“Hey, darlin’,” he manages, clearing his throat. “You need somethin’?” 

You blow out a breath, your cheeks puffing out. You rock back on your heels and stuff your hands in your pockets. “Well, maybe it's a bit forward of me,” you start, making Joel’s heart lurch in a way that he swears physically hurts him. He’s too old for this. Too old for crushes, too damn old for heart palpitations. 

“My usual patrol partner isn’t gonna be able to make my next rotation,” you continue. “And I thought we got on pretty well that time I filled in for Tommy. You think you’d wanna come along with me this time?”

The corner of your mouth lifts in a little smile. 

He swallows, tracing the bottom curve of your lip with his eyes. You have your stetson on now, and even though the brim of the hat shields your eyes from the sun, you still squint at him, those little crinkles appearing by your eyes. 

“You can say no,” you say when he just looks and doesn’t say a damn thing, laughter in your voice. “I won’t hold it against you.” 

Joel shakes himself. “No—I, of course. ‘Course I will.” 

“Really?” You sound surprised.

He lifts a brow, “Is that surprising?” 

You smile again. “Despite what I said before it did seem like I was a little much for your taste last time.” The twist of your lips turns self deprecating. 

Joel doesn’t mean to ask why you’d think that, but the words fall out anyhow. “How do you mean?” 

“Ah, c’mon, now,” you roll your eyes. “I know how I come across, and I know what it makes people think of me.” Before he can get a chance to respond to that, you’re continuing on. “So you’ll really be my partner?” 

“Sure,” he agrees again, like it doesn’t make him sick with nerves. Being alone with you for hours on end. “Just lemme know when.” 

You beam and flick your hat back with your forefinger to get a better look at him. “Great, thanks!” You give him the day and time of your rotation, but all he can focus on is how you still have that pencil tucked behind your ear, the curve of your cheek, the column of your throat. 

Seemingly without warning, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you, you spin away and make your way back to the canteen. 

“So you’ll actually have a conversation with her this time?” 

“Ellie—” 

“I’m just sayin’, man. You gotta snap that one up. You see how everyone looks at her.” 

Embarrassment like he’s never known it blooms in his chest. “Ellie,” he sighs again. “Go back to the damn house.” 

She relaxes further into the pile of hay she’s lying on, a comic book Joel had found for her held up in front of her nose. “No way, I gotta see this.” 

“Good morning!” Your sunny, sugared voice echoes from the entrance to the stables.

Ellie peeks at him over the edge of the comic book, clearly waiting for him to make a fool of himself. He tightens his grip on the reins of the horse he’d been saddling and glances around the edge of the stall. “Hey, sweetheart, good mornin’.” 

“Ready to go—Oh, Ellie, good morning, honey, what are you doing out here?” 

Ellie gets slowly to her feet, making a show of dusting her jeans off, hay feathering down as she does. “Just seeing the old man off,” she quips. “Didn’t want him to get lost on the way over.” 

You smile and laugh. “Hey if you meet us when we come back, I’ll get you those colored pencils like I promised.” 

Joel nearly strains his neck when his head snaps to look at Ellie. She’s just smiling, the little shit. “Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely meet you when you come back.”

You tilt your head at her tone, still grinning. 

Ellie wacks Joel on the arm with the comic as she walks by. “Don’t be weird,” she hisses under her breath.

You don’t seem to have heard, busy saddling your horse. “How are we on time?” You ask. 

“We got plenty. You and Ellie—”

He’s cut off by the laugh that slips past your lips. 

Joel watches the lift of your shirt, the thin line of exposed flesh between the edge of your t-shirt and your jeans. “Ellie is really good at attaching herself like a burr to certain people,” you confide. “She saw me drawing once in the market. Hasn’t left me alone since.” 

Ellie’s room flashes through his mind. The pad of paper she’d started carrying around, drawn pictures of people around Jackson, wildlife, the town, improving with each crack she took at it. She’s been drawing for months. 

She’s known you for months. 

That little shit. 

“She get that sketchbook from you?” He asks, just to confirm as he swings up into the saddle. 

“Yep,” you smile over your shoulder and then hook your foot into the stirrup. “Ready to go?” 

He nods, the knot in his chest a little looser at the ease between you. He can do this. He can converse with you, get to know you. 

Joel feels like he’s never had to talk to anyone in his life when he’s around you. He can’t remember what it's like to have a conversation. 

But you more than make up for it.

The way you chatter, he knows you’ve never met a stranger. He does his best to respond in kind, but his mouth and brain don’t seem to be on the same frequency. You don’t seem to mind his short answers, not bothered by his reluctance to say much of anything. 

Patrol is quiet aside from a few infected that you both quickly dispatch. You have a wicked aim, more than competent with the rifle you carry. 

He had tried not to doubt that you could handle yourself. He doesn’t think you would have been put on patrol had you not been able to. But seeing the determination settle into your features, the stern cut of your jaw as the smile disappeared from your lips, had reminded him that you weren’t the sheltered thing you seemed to be. 

You’d known something hard, before. You’d clearly known loss, with the hollowness that pulled at your eyes after the encounter. 

By the time you get back to Jackson, you’re smiling again, and Ellie is waiting as promised. You barely have your back turned before Ellie is nudging at Joel’s ribs with her elbow and lifting her brows. 

He shakes her off with a grunt, only for Ellie to offer you a place with them for dinner. “Tommy and Maria usually sit with us too,” she informs and you smile.

“I’d like that.” Your eyes briefly flick to Joel and then away. He can’t read the twitch of your lips, the way you duck your head. “Wanna come along for the colored pencils?” 

“Yep, c’mon Joel.”

He doesn’t protest, knows it's no use.

The warm, rocky feeling in his gut swims into his lungs when your fingers brush his as you walk along together. Ellie on one side, you on the other. Electric shoots through his veins. 

It’s only a matter of damn time before you really do give him a heart attack.

At your place, he sees your drawings. There are portraits of Ellie, Tommy, Maria, other folks around town. A couple of girls on horseback. All of your art is of Jackson, capturing life there. There’s no way you know every single one of those people personally.  

And yet, not a single one is of him.

“She’s lookin’ at you.” 

Joel huffs and lifts his beer to his mouth. The community hall smells like popcorn, like butter and salt. “She ain’t,” Joel says, keeps his eyes focused on film being projected onto the wall. 

“She is,” Tommy insists. “Just look over there.” 

Ever since you had dinner with him and his, Tommy and Ellie had decided to appoint themselves matchmakers. Maria rolled her eyes, but let it happen because it so clearly annoyed Joel. 

It reminds him of how Tommy and Sarah used to rib him, so he can’t be too irritated with them. 

He’s spent most of any of his free time with you over the last few months. He’s better at talking to you now, finds ease in your presence even when he feels warmth settling between his bones like something cancerous. You’re growing inside him, slow moving, choking off all other thoughts. 

Joel spends a lot of his time watching you draw anyone but him as you talk his ear off. It’s pleasant. He’ll never get tired of it.

Despite Joel’s words, he can’t keep his eyes from wandering, from seeking you out.

You’re sitting alone at the back of the room and you definitely aren’t looking at him, as he’d suspected. He rolls his eyes at Tommy’s dramatics but doesn’t look away from you. You set aside the glass in your hand and then begin to fidget with your fingers when your eyes suddenly flick up. 

You smile as soon as your gaze meets his, your whole face brightening. He swallows, and returns your wave when you raise a hand to him. 

“You always were bad with girls.” 

He groans. “Tommy would you jus’ let it go?”

“No,” he answers. “Just go on over and sit next to her. What’s the harm in that?” 

Joel grits his teeth. “Ain’t no harm unless she don’t want anythin’ to do with me.” 

Tommy whistles lowly. “Ain’t never seen confidence so low before—” 

“Jesus, alright, fine,” he slams the bottle down on the bar and works his towards you, going the long way around so he doesn’t block anyone’s view of the movie as Tommy’s laugh follows him. 

You glance up when he stops by your side. “Evenin’,” he greets, his voice waspish to his own ears. 

Great.

“Why hello, Joel Miller,” you respond with mirth in your voice, the melody of it melting into his skin. 

“Seat taken, sweetheart?” He asks gruffly. 

When you shake your head, he settles himself in the seat next to you stiffly. You stare at him and then glance around. The motion of it is so dramatic and put on that he has to ask—“What?” 

“Oh, nothing, I’m just looking for the snipers that must be trained on you,” you joke. “To make you so clearly sit next to me against your will.” 

He’s not sure what makes him do it, but he reaches over and cups your chin in his hand to direct your gaze to Tommy. “Right there he is,” he says, releasing your face. “My idiot brother.” 

“Ah, so you don’t wanna be sitting next to me.” 

“Never said that.” 

You grin. “Well I was hoping you’d come over, so color me flattered you aren’t being held at gunpoint.” 

He chuckles, his irritation easing. “It’s an honor, darlin’. My brother was just testin’ my patience.” 

“Siblings will do that,” you say with a nod. “I think he means well though. Him and Ellie both actually.” 

He frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, c’mon, Joel, neither of them are very subtle are they?” You nudge your knee into his. “Ellie asked me if I thought you were handsome just a few days ago. She looked kind of disgusted about it.” 

Joel swipes a hand down his face, sweat beading on his forehead. His stomach tightens with nerves. Leave it to those two to ruin something without even trying. He knew they were playing matchmaker, but he didn’t think you knew it too.  

“Jesus. I—I’m sorry if either of ‘em has made you uncomfortable.” 

You blink at him. “Well, Joel, don’t you wanna know my answer?” 

He winces. This is it, you’re putting him, all three of them, in their place. “Not so sure I do.”

You tilt your head and lie one hand against his forearm. “Well, okay. I won’t tell you how I said I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever laid eyes on. And I won’t tell you how that made Ellie gag and say she doesn’t need those kinds of details.”  

A laugh startles out of him, heat blooming in his neck and cheeks. He’s blushing like a damn teenager. 

He doesn’t dare to hope. 

Not yet. 

“Look,” you continue. “I knew what they were trying to do these last few months. And I think, maybe, neither of us are very good at this. I’m—I’m certainly not good at this kinda thing. I’ve never needed to be but,” you pull away from him and shuffle through your pockets. “This is what I was drawing that first time I met Ellie. She’s got a keen eye, noticed right away.” 

He takes the paper you pull from your pocket, folded into a creased, neat square. When he unfolds it, he finds he’s staring at himself rendered in pencil and charcoal. “Here’s where I embarrass myself and admit that I’ve had a—well, I guess it's a crush. For a while.” 

In the drawing, he’s standing with Tommy outside the stables. It’s clearly spring time, flowers budding on the nearby trees. “Was this last spring?” 

“Yep. So I jumped when Tommy needed someone to fill in.” You squirm, your hand hovering over the paper like you’re stopping yourself from snatching the drawing away from his fingers. “And then I didn’t shut up that whole time on patrol and you were so annoyed. I thought I messed it up.” 

Joel finally glances away from the paper and into your eyes. “Messed it up? Darlin’ I was—Jesus, I still am—struck by you. My tongue was twisted.” 

You blink. “Really? So I’m not making a fool of myself?” 

It's only then that he realizes how embarrassed you look, that you’re waiting for him to shoot you down, and that he hasn’t said anything to you, not really. “No, no, I’m—” 

Joel catches Tommy smirking from across the room in the corner of his vision, and when he looks around Ellie is laughing too, from where she sits with a group of her friends. No one else is paying you any mind, turned toward the flicker of the movie. “So damn obvious about it too,” he rolls his eyes. “Ain’t very good, are they?”

You laugh. “They seemed to be having fun. Bonding over it, really. And there was no harm in it, anyway, so I left them to it. Besides, y’know, maybe getting my feelings hurt a little.” You duck your head, a smile playing around your lips. 

“Well, I guess there wasn’t any harm,” he acknowledges. “Sorry, sweetheart but they, uh, they were right. I’m just about as stubborn as a bull.” 

You nod. “Got that impression of you.” 

Joel swallows, all the words tied up inside his mouth finally coming together, “I might be stubborn. But I ain’t above seeing when I’m wrong.” 

“And what are you wrong in?” 

“Waitin’ so damn long,” he says. 

The room is dark and no one is paying you any mind. When Joel cups your face in his hands, you lean into his touch and the tight fist around his lungs loosens. 

You taste like the sparkle of the drink you had been sipping on before he came over. Your mouth is as soft as your laugh, as smooth as the flutter of your voice. 

All the I told you so’s he’s about to be in for, are worth it. 

sending people wikipedia articles is my favorite form of humor. one time a long time friend of mine asked why i was using a different name and acting different i sent him the wikipedia page for DID. ryder just asked me why its 108 degrees in nevada right now and i sent him the wikipedia page for global warming and the season of summer.

This is so beautiful, and the characterization of oberyn is so on point! I loved the concept and just think this is absolutely fabulous. Thank you for all the effort that went into this beautiful writing!

Lemon Cakes & Lust | Oberyn Martell (One Shot)

Just a lowly kitchen girl, that's all you were. A life of struggle behind you, masked by the facade of the palace. A tray of lemon cakes holds your fate with Prince Oberyn and you are only too happy to oblige his wanting of you.

Pairing | Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings | Smut, this is porn with some plot (for once), fingering and unprotected PiV sex but nothing else, apart from mentions of loss of parents and alcoholism.

Word Count | 4.6k

Authors Note | HUGE shoutout to @jamesbuckyburns for sending in the prompt request of 'You're heart is beating so fast right now.' and allowing me to create this. I've been HUGELY intimidated by Oberyn, I didn't even know where to start with writing him, but I love this and I hope you all do too. Please consider dropping me a follow if you enjoy this - likes, reblogs and asks also help with keeping me afloat and writing - I love hearing from you all.

Main Masterlist

Dorne had always been your home. You’d never travelled but you were sure no other place in the seven kingdoms could compete. Hot days that warmed your skin, cool evenings giving much needed reprieve when you sat in your quarters to watch the stars in the sky. 

You’d spent most of your life alone. Your mother had died giving birth to you, something which your father had never truly been able to forgive you for. He’d sought solace in the bottom of every cup of wine he could get his hands on and had drowned one evening in the ocean, leaving you an orphan at the tender age of seven. You’d survived a year on the streets, dodging men and women alike who wished you harm, surviving off scraps dumped from taverns at the end of the night.

One day, as you were wandering through the streets, the smell of warm bread had filled your senses. The bakery on the corner of the street was always tempting, but you were usually able to resist until the stale scraps were thrown to you in the dark. This day, the temptation was too much. You’d reached out to touch one of the loaves in the display baskets. You were desperately hungry, and the warm loaf would be enough to sustain you for days if you were careful. As you went to lift the loaf, a hand gripped your wrist, fear spread through your body as you tried to get away, but the grip on your wrist was far too tight. 

“It’s okay, little one,” You’d looked up at the voice into the face of an older woman, her expression was kind and the look in her eyes bore no ill-will towards your thievery, “You’re hungry?” 

You’d nodded immediately. Hunger pains, though they never really left, has dissipated in your fear, but now your stomach grumbled. 

“Come inside child, no-one should go hungry in this city.” 

And that’s how you met Bernyce. That night she had admitted to looking out for you each evening, throwing scraps of bread to you when her husband hadn’t been watching. He’d passed a few weeks prior, and Bernyce had settled in her mind that the next time she saw you, it would be the last time you went hungry and slept on the street. 

For years after that she’d become something of a mother to you. She’d taught you how to make the bread and simple recipes that she sold to her regular customers, paid you a fair wage and gave you the home you’d missed for so long. When you were old enough, she started teaching you recipes she’d heard were favourites in the palace – lemon cakes, flavoured loaves of bread they enjoyed with their wine and cheese, and when there was enough money between you, she taught you how to cook meat with spices and fruits. 

One day, perhaps two years ago now, you’d been slaving over the counter, kneading bread, when a man you didn’t recognize came into the bakery. It was obvious Bernyce knew who it was, she had embraced him, and he’d placed a chaste kiss on her cheek in return. 

“Nalia has left us,” He spoke to Bernyce, you knew it was rude to listen in on conversations, but whoever this man was, you knew he came with an opportunity, “We need a replacement, so as I always do, I’ve come to ask if you would consider the opportunity.” 

Bernyce had laughed, it was deep and joyous and every time you heard it, it made you feel warm, “Zarin, I tell you this every time you visit, I have no desire to spend the rest of my days in a palace kitchen.” 

The palace. You were still kneading the dough in front of you, but your eyes were trained on this man and Bernyce. Of course, he was from the palace. Outfit made of light silks, shoes that weren’t covered in filth from walking the streets each day. Bernyce had always been candid with you about his visits – she’d spoken often of opportunities to work in the palace kitchen, but her husband had been vehemently against it. She was needed here so she’d always said no. So why now, with her husband out of the picture, would she not take the opportunity. 

“I am perfectly content here, however…” She trailed off, turning to meet your eyes, you felt them widen as you caught you watching, “I might have a solution for you.” 

That’s how you found yourself in the palace of Dorne, carrying a tray of lemon cakes from the kitchen to the great hall, where Prince Doran and his brother Oberyn would be entertaining one of many groups of courtiers that evening. 

There was chatter behind the closed door as you and a handful of other kitchen hands stood at the threshold. Two guards opened the door, swinging them inwards to reveal the opulent room inside. You’d been here hundreds of times, but it never failed to impress you. Open walls that looked out onto the ocean, allowing a fair breeze to waft through the room. Hangings of silk draped from the walls and candles flickering to give light as the sun faded. 

You rounded the tables, walking behind the men and women who paid you no mind. Head down as you’d been taught on your very first day, never look at the princes, was the warning, no doubt meant to intimidate you, but it had never stopped you before. 

You placed the tray of lemon cakes on the serving table behind where Prince Doran and his brother were sat. Trays of cooked meats and fresh fruit were placed on the table by your friends. You took a moment to catch glances around you. Everyone sat at the table was deep in conversation, drinking wine and picking at food they’d already been served. Both serving boys were busy filling up empty wine cups and gathering empty plates. 

You turn back to the tray of cakes. Your fingers reach for the golden lemon slice on top, twinkling in your eye like a jewel. You easily slide the slice off and pop it whole into your mouth, stopping briefly to suck the tip of your thumb where the residue of sticky syrup remained. The sour slice bursts onto your tongue before the sugar syrup sweeps across after it, it’s a simple pleasure, normally one enjoyed back in the safety of the kitchen, but temptation is a vice that seemed to be welcomed in Dorne and you were more than happy to indulge yourself wherever you could. 

You ducked your head as low as you could manage to hide the motion of chewing in your jaw and sped to leave the room and catch up with your friends, not realizing a pair of deep, brown eyes had been watching you the entire time. 

Later that evening, after the sun had set and the choking heat had subsided, you were in the lemon grove, basket hooked over your elbow, picking lemons for tomorrows batch of cakes. This was the kind of peace you loved at the end of the day, silence except for the licking of the ocean waves on the beach beyond and the sound of the lemons popping from their branches and landing in your basket. You had one in your hand, about to deposit it into the wicker on your arm when a voice spoke out from between the trees. 

“I watched you earlier,” The lemon dropped from your fingers as you jumped in shock, you watched it roll away, coming to a stop at the side of a foot, a hand picking it up and then emerging from the shadows, “You like stealing the lemon cakes?” 

Prince Oberyn. He hands you the lemon, which you gratefully take, placing it carefully in the basket. You’d never spoken to the prince, but you’d heard stories. The kitchen was always alight with gossip that he’d been seen in one brothel or another or had called so many people to his rooms of an evening that people had been confused as to what was going on. He was frivolous but frightfully intelligent, loyal, almost to a fault, and was an incredible lover. Dressed in his yellow robes, with his tanned skin and dark eyes, he was formidable, but you hadn’t survived your ordeals without a sharp tongue, and he wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“If I make them, am I really stealing them?” You offered, “And besides, it wasn’t the cake, just the lemon on the top.” 

He snorts but shrugs in acceptance, “Do you always make them?” He asked, to which you nod in affirmation, “They are one of my favourite indulgences.” 

“I wonder how I’m ever to compete with wine and women.” You shrug, moving back to picking more fruit. 

“That last girl made them too sweet,” He speaks beside you, watching your hands intently as they pick at the fruit tree, “The girl before her, too sour,” He stands right beside you now, lips so close to your ear you could hear his breath, “Yours are just right, enough sugar to mask the sour, but not enough to fully take it away.” 

Your own breath hitches in your throat as his hand comes to rest at your hip, he stands behind you, still and statue-like as you try to focus on the tree in front of you, you wonder for the longest time if he might press a kiss to your neck with his lips being so close to you, but he just stands there, reveling in your heaving chest and sweating palms. You were no better than anyone he’d ever come across before and you cursed yourself for it. 

 “Your secret is safe with me.” He whispers, so quiet you almost miss it, and then he is gone and quickly as he appeared, leaving you confused but ultimately aroused. 

*

“Prince Oberyn has requested a tray of lemon cakes to his rooms this evening.” His servant boy speaks to you in the kitchen a few mornings later. 

You nod, “I’ll have them ready to be delivered once dinner has finished.” 

“He also requested that you hand deliver them.” 

You were about to protest before remembering your place. Sure, you might feed the palace, but this man in front of you is infinitely more important than you. Despite both being servants of a kind, he spends his day walking three steps behind Prince Oberyn in the sun whilst you slave over hot coals. He might not be your boss, but he is to be respected. 

“Of course, I will deliver them as soon as they are ready.” 

The day was busy, so it wasn’t until you held the tray of freshly made cakes that the familiar bubble of nervousness set into your body. The servant from this morning was stood outside of Prince Oberyn’s door when you arrived, the warmth of the cakes through the tray almost verging on pain, but at least if you were focusing on the way your palms burned, you weren’t focusing on the anxiety in your stomach. 

The boy knocked twice on the door before he opened it, ushering you in quickly before shutting the door behind you. Oberyn was lazing on his bed when you entered, wine goblet in hand. 

“Set them on the table,” He instructed, you did as you were told, “And pass me the wine.”

You stood at the edge of the bed, filling up his goblet when it was extended to you before placing the jug down next to the tray of cakes, “Would you like to try some?” He was standing now, and you could get a good look at him. 

His usual mustard robe had been discarded; you could see it thrown over a chair in the corner of the room. He had a small shawl wrapped over his shoulders, doing nothing to hide his perfectly toned and tanned chest. 

You took the goblet in your hands from his own and took a small sip. Jesus, that’s good, you thought to yourself, the stuff left for you and the other cooks was swill compared to this. 

“Good, isn’t it?” He asked, leaning down to meet your eyes, “Have some more, there’s plenty to go around.” 

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” You asked, taking another sip, this time bigger than the last. 

“I would assume you don’t get the chance very often.” 

Your mind flashes to your father in this moment, the fuzzy images you have of him falling through the door at the end of the night, always sleeping where he fell, waking up in a pile of vomit and then standing to reach for the booze again. It wasn’t that you didn’t get the opportunity, it was that you didn’t want to turn into the man you’d grown to detest in the end. 

“I have plenty of opportunity, we’re not recluses in the kitchen, I just don’t like the way it feels.” 

“Your father, right?” 

Your eyes shoot to his in seconds, an accusing look covering your face, “How do you know that?” 

He shrugs, “I have my ways.” 

“Well, it’s rude,” You speak without thinking, “You shouldn’t bring things up like that.” 

He chuckles now, “You’re different,” He states simple, “The way you speak to me, no-one else would, I like that.” 

You watch him like a hawk as he takes his cup back and sets it on the table. He picks up one of the cakes from the tray and does similar to what you did in the dining hall. He slides the sticky lemon slice off the top first, putting it into his mouth before breaking the cake itself in half, eating it in small bites, all whilst his eyes never leave yours. 

He picks up another lemon cake, peeling the slice as he had done before, but this time he steps impossibly close to you. There isn’t too much of a height difference between you, enough that you must tilt your head to look at him. He brings the lemon slice to your lips, and you open gratefully, letting him place the sweet slice on your tongue for you to consume. You suppose you hadn’t needed to suck the end of his thumb to get the last of the syrup from his skin, but you did it anyway, watching as lust clouded his dark eyes. 

“Sinful little girl.” 

You had no idea where you’d found your bravado, but you replied with, “Are you tempted?” Looking up at him through your lashes as your hands pressed to his chest. 

“I’m always tempted.” He speaks, before leaning down and capturing your lips with your own.

It’s sticky and sweet on account of the cake, tinged with sour of lemon and wine. It’s delicious and all-consuming and you realize now why his reputation is so widely known. If this is how Prince Oberyn kisses, you can’t imagine how he fucks. His hands cup your face as his tongue traces along your bottom lip like he was begging for you to let him in. You oblige, opening your mouth, letting your tongue mix with his own as your hands press further into his chest. 

You pull away, his heartbeat racing under your palms, “Your heart is beating so fast right now.” You observe, how could a lowly kitchen girl have this effect on a prince? Especially a prince who could have his pick of his whole kingdom at the wave of a hand. 

One of his hands drops from your face and makes it way under the neckline of your dress, resting just above your own heart, “So is yours,” He speak, trailing his lips across your cheek, “Are you excited?” 

You nod your head as his teeth nip at your earlobe, hands falling to grip at your hips through your dress. You tilt your head back a little and excitement thrums through your bones as his lips trail from your ear, downwards. It’s a dance of sorts, a series of repeated moves, he uses his teeth to nip at the skin of your neck, then showers attention over it with his tongue before sucking on the spot as a final way to stake his claim. You’re going to have some explaining to do in the morning, but you couldn’t care less right now. 

Without warning, his hands drop to the crease where your ass meets your thighs, and he’s picking you up. Your legs wrap around his waist without thought and your arms wind their way around his neck for stability. You take a moment to breathe in his scent – it’s citrusy and sweet, but there’s an added note of musk and sweat that has you feeling high. 

He places your back softly on the bed, stepping back to admire you, hair fanned out underneath you, cheeks pink with blush. You take a moment to fist your hands in the sheets. The mattress under you in unbelievably comfortable, a far cry from the palette you sleep on each night. The sheets, you deduce, are pure silk, soft and buttery against your skin. Oh, how the other half live, you think as you move to look at him. 

The shawl from his shoulders is gone, revealing the broad frame of his shoulders, you want to reach out and run your hands over their expanse. His chest is tanned and toned as you’d expected, again, your hands itching to reach out and touch his skin. 

He crawls on top of you, dipping to trail his lips from your collarbone up to your mouth where you meet. Your lips open this time without the trail of his tongue along your lip, and as you kiss you can feel his deft hands undoing the belt to your dress. It’s simple, brown linen, the same that all the kitchen hands wear, and you’re thankful when you feel it fall open, your skin finally free from its itchy prison. 

Oberyn pulls away from your lips, sitting back on his knees as he admires your body. You don’t wear anything underneath the dress, the fire in the kitchen too hot for extra layers and you’re grateful for it now as his hands push the garment off your shoulders and he looks at you. Looks at you like you were the sweetest fruit he’d tasted, or the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever seen. You had to remind yourself that this was surely how he looked at everyone, you couldn’t have been that special. 

“You are perfection.” He breathes into your ear as his hand moves to your breasts. 

You let out a moan as he takes your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the bud to a stiff peak. Another moan as his mouth brings its attention to your other breast at the same time. He stays there for what feels like hours, switching his hand and his mouth a few times, until your chest is heaving, and you’re covered in a thin film of sweat. You wish at this moment that he hadn’t chosen to situate his hips between your thighs. Although the weight at your core of his hardening length was exciting, you wanted to rub your thighs together for friction, you’d do anything to add to the pleasure currently coursing through you. 

Once Oberyn is satisfied you are worked up enough, he trails his lips back to your neck, adding to the marks he’d already given you, whilst his hand dips between your legs. His fingers trace lightly over the seam of your aching pussy, dipping far enough into you to feel how wet you are, but not enough to give you what you really want. He brings his fingers to his lips and keeps his eyes on your as he licks your wetness from them. 

“Just as sweet as your cakes, little dove.” He all but growls, moving his hand back to your pussy. 

He gathers your wetness on his fingers, still towering over you with one hand placed beside your head to keep him upright and runs his fingers up to your clit. You swear at this point you see stars, all the buildup has led to this moment, your clit crying out for the attention he’d showered the rest of your body with, and it was just as delicious as you had dreamed. 

His lips are back on yours in this moment, tongues fighting against each other as his fingers set a pace between your legs. He’s rubbing tight, small circles across your clit that have your hips bucking up into his hand, but you want more pressure, need more pressure. Your legs drop open wider, and you’re pushing your hips up into his hand, small moans coming from your throat becoming lost in his own mouth as he continues kissing you. 

“You like this?” He asked, whispering into your ear, you nod in response, “Where’s your voice now, little dove?” He chuckles, you were only too happy to let your smart mouth talk before. 

“Yes..” You breath out, “I need more, please.” You beg. 

“What do you need?” 

“Harder,” You keen out, “Press your fingers harder.” 

He is only too happy to oblige, giving you just the right amount of pleasure to have you tumbling over the edge in moments. It rips through you unexpectedly, heat flooding your lower tummy as your pussy pulses around nothing as his name falling from your mouth. He works his fingers softly over your clit for a moment, almost entranced at the way it makes your legs shake through the aftershocks. 

“You look beautiful when you come undone for me.” He rasps into your ear as he lets you catch your breath. 

You cannot reply. Words fail you, so you use your hands, running them over the broad expanse of his shoulders, down his chest to fall at the waistband of his trousers. He swats your hands away with a smirk on his lips, sitting back on his knees and then standing from the bed. You lift yourself onto your elbows and watch as his thumbs hook into the waistband pushing them down just enough that they fall to the floor. 

You don’t think you’d ever seen a mere mortal look quite this good. He couldn’t be real. The toned nature of his chest continued down the rest of his body, his hips carved out in all the right places, leading your eyes to his cock. Well. The fumbling you’d done these past months with Jace from the kitchens was poor preparation for this. 

“You like the view?” He asks, a grin set upon his lips.

“I do.” You nod, his smile making your own form on your lips. 

He crawls back onto your bed and settles himself between your thighs again, his fingers fall to your entrance and work to somewhat stretch you open but you knew the way he was about to fill you would be overwhelming regardless of much he tried to prepare you. 

He fists his cock in his fist a few times, dragging your wetness over him, before the tip is nudging at your aching core and he’s pushing in slowly. He presses sweet kisses to your lips and your cheeks as he slowly inches further and further inside you, the moans falling from your lips are indecent and you were right, the stretch within you in obscene. You’d never felt so full in your life. Oberyn was whispering encouragement into your ear as he stilled himself within you, fully sheathed in your soaking heat. Good girl and you feel divine, sweet girl and you’re taking me so well. 

He begins moving when he’s sure you can take it, he pulls out almost all the way before he thrusts back inside of you. You watch as pleasure contorts his face, you know this is just as good for him as it is for you. Your legs wrap around his waist and your arms around his neck, leaning up to press your own kisses to his neck, stopping short of marking him, you weren’t sure what the punishment would be for a kitchen girl who staked the prince as her own. 

His pace is languid, like he has all the time in the world. He doesn’t pound into you like Jace did, always sure someone will find you, trying to get in over as soon as possible so you can get back to work. The friction of each thrust has you keening into his skin, he shifts slightly, hands gripping your ass, lifting your hips just an inch and then he’s hitting something wonderful inside you, something that has spots filling your vision and moans louder than ever dropping from your lips. 

“Give me your hand,” He demands, you do as your told, and he places it between you, “Touch yourself, little dove, I want to feel you come undone on my cock.” 

It doesn’t take long for your second orgasm to fling you into oblivion. This time, when your pussy clenched through your aftershocks, you could hear how much Oberyn liked it. His moans were falling freely from his mouth as his hips stuttered, the languid pace lost for a moment as he chased your orgasm. 

He pulls back onto his knees and uses his hands to wrap around your wrists. Still seated inside you, he pulls you up, chest flush to his own, your legs wrapped around his waist once more. Your arms around his neck hold you up, but it’s his hands splayed across your back that keep you steady. He’s thrusting up into you now, lips biting at your shoulder, fingers gripping so hard to your skin you think you might bruise there too. Then, he’s calling your name and you can feel him coming for you. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you, painting your walls with his seed. 

He's breathing just as deeply as you are as he sets you back to the sheets. When he pulls from you it’s like you are lost, empty without him, in more ways than one. He gets up from the bed and walks to the table, filling his goblet with wine and taking a long drink. You take this as your cue to leave. 

You stand, unsure how you’re meant to make it from here to the kitchen with legs that feel like they might collapse at any moment. You reach for your dress when you feel a hand at the small of your back. 

“Where are you going?” He murmurs to you. 

“Back where I belong.” You speak simply. 

“For tonight, you belong here.” He takes your dress from your hands and drops it to the floor, joining the pile of his own garments. 

He moves you so you are facing him and kisses you deeply. You search his tongue with your own for the sweet taste of wine. 

“Just tonight?” You asked breathlessly when he pulls away. 

“If the fates bring us together again, I surely wouldn’t complain.” 

It’s as close as you’ll get to a commitment that he’ll see you again and for now it’s all you need. You crawl back onto the bed with him, setting yourself against the impossibly soft pillows. He hands you the wine and you take it, taking a sip before handing it back to him once he’s taken his place next to you. His warm hand rests on your thigh as your head tilts to rest on his shoulder. You think you’d like to close your eyes and fall asleep like this, but if one night is all that is promised right now then you won’t waste it. Instead, you move your body, trailing kisses down his neck and across his chest, when his hand falls to your cheek. 

“Patience, little dove,” He coos at you, “You’ll get what you want soon enough.” 

I've never really dared to reblog fanfic for some idiotic reason, but damn I couldn't not reblog this. This is gold. Perfection.

texas sun - series masterlist (joel miller x f!reader)

series summary: Twenty years later, Joel still doesn’t know how to describe what you were to him. You’d never made any promises to each other, but you loved his daughter like she was your own. Had he known what was going to happen, he wouldn't have let you go.

description: plot inspired partially by this request. pre-outbreak! joel miller x f!reader, slow burn(ish), eventual smut. will end up covering game/tv show events. reader does not have a name, and there's no use of y/n, but she does have a fully fleshed-out backstory, friends/family with names.

warnings (will update as needed): fluff, angst, romance. multiple pov's. time jumps. smut (18+ only, minors DNI), alcohol use, marijuana use, descriptions of absent & abusive parents, eventual canon-typical violence & content. More specific warnings on each chapter.

a/n: super excited about this one, i've had so many ideas for it and it has been a pleasure to write! will try to update roughly every week or so, but i have a full-time job, so it just depends on what i can reasonably accomplish. i don't rush things out before they are ready, so please be patient. :)

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ftcwriting and turn on notifications if you would like to be notified when I update :)

fic playlist | writing masterlist | read on a03

chapters: "*" = contains smut

volume i volume ii volume iii volume iv volume v* volume vi* volume vii* volume viii* volume ix volume x volume xi volume xii volume xiii